Full Mental Analysis
by Yamiko Number 7
Summary: The premise is common: the FMA group obviously needs psychotherapy. What sets this one apart is the therapist...Bwaha. Rated PG13 for language and...therapy.


**Full Mental Analysis**

**By: Yamiko #7**

(Gasp) It's an audience! Whee! Before anybody asks, no, I haven't given up on any of my other fics; I'm just having...plot difficulties...eh heh heh. Not to mention IB overload...(English orals are next week! Aaaaaaaaaaagh!) But I am working on stuff.

Including this. The idea came from one night in the shower when otakudom and IB insanity collided...let's just say this'll be fun. I can even have my English teacher read it - I managed to start her reading the FMA manga. Needless to say, I have the coolest English teacher on the planet.

So, without further ado, let's go!

* * *

_Chapter One: Psychoanalysis, Emphasis on "Psycho"_

"So." Ed tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. "Remind me why we're here again?"

"We received a tip detailing the existence of a Philosopher's Stone in this area," Al answered promptly. As to why a Philosopher's Stone was floating around virtually unnoticed in the middle of Central...well, that was the confusing part.

Ed stiffened. "So..." he began slowly, "if we're here because of the Stone..." He lost his cool. "Then why in seven hells is HE here!" he yelled, pointing frantically.

Al followed the direction of his brother's finger to see none other than Colonel Roy Mustang, looking just as confused as they were but much less upset.

"Why, hello, Fullmetal." He flashed a winning smile that unfortunately only worked on people who didn't know him. Or know of him. Or know anybody who knew of him. It would be much easier to simply say the smile didn't work.

Roy, however, refused to believe that. He insisted it worked in its one remaining purpose: to annoy the living hell out of Fullmetal.

And work it did.

"You," Ed snarled. Al placed a hand on his brother's shoulder in a nonverbal reminder that this murder, if committed, would unfortunately not count as community service.

"Lovely weather today, isn't it?" Roy continued to display the smile. Ed continued to fume.

"So, why are you here, Colonel?" Al, as usual, tried to defuse the tension.

For once, it worked. "Lieutenant Hawkeye and I were summoned here on official military business." He glanced around his surroundings. "Although why they insisted we meet in nonsecure quarters, I have no idea..."

"So where's Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"Getting coffee." Roy nodded.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Chauvinist."

"Doesn't it strike you as strange that we were all called here for different reasons?" Al wondered aloud.

Ed blinked as something clicked in his brain. He snapped his fingers in front of Roy. The colonel jumped slightly, taking several split seconds to remember that Ed's snap would not produce flame.

"Your summons. Let me see it."

As loose with regulations as he may have been, Roy was one person who did not appreciate being ordered around by his subordinates. He, of course, displayed this dislike with the highest level of immaturity possible. "I don't want to."

"Dammit, colonel!"

Roy whipped the paper out of his pocket and held it above his head. "You want it? Take it." He grinned. _I'm holding it over your head. You can't reach it, you can't reach it..._

Instead of reacting like Roy would want him to act - he could see himself jumping for it, "Gimme the paper! Gimme the paper!" - he glared and contemplated homicide. Al simply reached over his big brother's head and plucked the paper out of Roy's fingers.

"Aw, spoil my fun..." Roy complained.

Ed sighed for the second time in as many minutes, wordlessly snatching the paper out of Al's hand and flipping it open. His eyes widened as he scanned the page, finishing in him throwing the paper to the ground with an emphatic profanity. "It's written in purple pen!"

Roy was confused. "So?"

Ed looked up at him. "Are you telling me you didn't recognize the purple pen!"

Roy shrugged. "I thought somebody in command was being cute. I repeat: so?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T RECOGNIZE THE PURPLE PEN!"

"What is wrong with you, Fullmetal?"

Al sighed. Realization would not be pretty here.

Ed grabbed Roy's lapels and pulled the colonel down to his eye level - a difference of a good eighteen inches. "THINK, Colonel! Who is the one woman you know of who hasn't succumbed to your masculine charms?"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"...the other one."

"Ohhhhh..." Roy blinked as realization hit him - "Oh." - followed quickly by the implications. His eyes widened. "Oh, sh-"

"Exactly." Ed cut him off. "The question is, what in hell is she up to this time?"

* * *

Unnoticed by the bickering manly men, Lieutenant Hawkeye sidled up next to Al. "Hello, Alphonse."

"Hello, Lieutenant. Any ideas?" He gestured to the heated debate between the Colonel and the alchemist.

"None." Hawkeye shrugged and sipped her coffee. Black. "I'm not too worried, though."

"Yeah," Al nodded. "She's normally pretty nice to us."

* * *

"So why didn't YOU recognize the purple pen!" Roy was finally starting to get angry.

"MINE was written in BLACK, you idiot!" Ed yelled.

"Now, now, boys, don't fight," came a voice from around the corner. Both combatants stiffened as the words floated to their ears.

Hawkeye and Alphonse exchanged a look. Things would now get interesting.

"Because you know what I do when you fight." A blond head poked around the corner and broke into a wide grin. "I have the twine and everything."

Roy shuddered and Ed took an involuntary step backwards. It wasn't so much the being treated like children that they hated as it was the being tied wrist-to-wrist to one another for the better part of a day. Neither wanted to repeat the exercise in forced peacemaking.

"That's better." If anything, the grin got even wider. "Now I suppose you want to know what I'm doing here."

Roy, having recovered a small amount of his composure, raised an eyebrow. "Won't you get kicked off for interacting with your characters?"

"Nope." The girl shrugged and turned the corner. "I'm not the authoress; I'm just her proxy. Call me Kit."

Roy's other eyebrow raised to match the first, filing away this particular example of rule evasion to be utilized later. "Why Kit?"

"Well..." Kit shrugged. "In a fit of terrible Japanese grammar, she originally named me Koyamiko..."

"Child of the child of..." Ed trailed off, blinking. "Wow, that _is_ a crappy name."

Kit glared and waggled all ten of her fingers at him. "Yeah, well at least I have all of my limbs."

"That has nothing to do with it!"

"Yeah, well it makes me feel good." Kit gave a smug grin.

Ed fumed.

* * *

The authoress pokes at her fourth wall, wondering why it isn't working. That conversation never would have happened if it was. Further investigation produces a cord several inches short of the wall plug. She swears several times in quick succession, plugs it in, and resumes typing.

* * *

"So," Hawkeye spoke up, trying to get things back on track, "why exactly are you here?"

"Wait, wait," Roy waved a hand, "before that: who wrote that note? It was absolutely perfect. Scarily so."

"The authoress did." Kit shrugged. "Duh."

"Nooooo..." Roy shook his head. "...Did she really?"

"She's a military brat in the IB program." Kit gave him the No-Shit-Sherlock answer. "Who else would have written it?"

"Good point." Roy nodded.

* * *

The authoress rises from her chair and, after several minutes of digging, manages to unearth the warrantee for her fourth wall. A swift perusal reveals the expiration date as May 17, 2001. She swears several more times, decides to make do as best she can, takes her seat amidst the cloud of blue air she has created with her offensive choice of words, and continues on.

* * *

"Anyway..." Hawkeye interjected pointedly.

"Right!" Roy coughed. "So why are you here?"

Kit got right to the point. "The authoress has decided that you all are in serious need of therapy." Ignoring the shocked looks produced by this statement, she continued on. "She has asked me to bring a famous psychoanalyst from her world to accomplish this test."

As if on cue, a very distinguished-looking man with a short beard and moustache turned the corner. He wore an old-fashioned but well-preserved suit and carried a cigar.

"Light that for you?" Roy offered, a mischievous grin materializing on his face. Hawkeye sighed.

"No, thank you," their therapist-to-be answered. "Took care of that on the way over."

"Oh." Practical joke shot down, Roy decided to fall back on formality. "Colonel Roy Mustang," he said briskly, offering his hand.

"I prefer not to introduce myself," the man replied. "I am merely to analyze your minds, and any knowledge of my personal life may affect what you tell me, thereby increasing the inherent inaccuracies of the analysis." He did, however, shake Roy's hand.

Ed rolled his eyes yet again. "Well, this should be...interesting." He said "interesting" in the same way most other people would say "excruciatingly painful."

This did not go unnoticed by Kit. "Ed! Thank you so very much for volunteering."

"WHAT!"

Kit turned to the therapist. "Sir, this is Edward Elric, your first patient. Now, if you'll both please come this way -" She opened a side door and shoved a loudly protesting Ed inside. "- you can begin your session. I'm sure you'll get along famously. Have fun!" With a slightly malicious grin aimed at Ed, she shut the door and turned to the others. "You're next, bait."

Roy blinked. "What?"

Kit shrugged, airily waving one hand and grinning. "Never mind."

Ed was right, she reflected. This should be interesting. Very interesting indeed.

* * *

I wrote this chapter in the span of several hours late at night (on a school night nonetheless). Please forgive the errors in grammar and sanity. (Grin)

Okay, contest time! Can anybody tell me where both references came from? The first one, by the way, actually goes something like "Gimme the phone, gimme the phone!" She second one - "You're next, bait," - is verbatim. Both of them made me laugh my butt off the first time I saw/heard them. The first person who tells me where they're both from...I dunno...gets recognized, I guess. I'd offer you a place in the fic, but there really isn't one. (Sigh) I could offer you a place in "Simply Musing" if you really wanted it...but really, I just want to see if anybody else gets the references. Always good to know that somebody else is just as crazy as I am. (Grin)

And if you can guess who the therapist is (especially at this point), I'll send you a cookie. Seriously. I'm not telling you who it is 'til the end, though...it just makes it so much more fun that way. n.n Here's a hint for those of you who really want to know: his theories were a hit in America in the Roaring Twenties. (He was HUGE. Still is.)

Good luck, have fun, please leave me something nice in my mailbox, and see ya next chapter!


End file.
